Like any great actor, the artist Yasumasa Morimura (b. 1951) is blessed with supple features and a physique that lends itself to transformation. Since showing Portrait (Van Gogh), a photographic self-portrait inspired by van Gogh's Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear and Pipe (1889), in a small-group exhibition called Smile with Radical Will at Galerie 16 in Kyoto in 1985, Morimura has inserted himself into a host of paintings and famous images from popular culture. Over the years, he has morphed into everyone from Che to Chairman Mao, Madonna to Mishima, Sharaku to Scarlett O'Hara -- to say nothing of the occasional fruit or flower.

Despite his international reputation, Morimura is still based in a working-class neighborhood in Osaka, not far from where he grew up. But until this year he has never been honored with a large solo exhibition in his hometown. The Self-Portraits of Yasumasa Morimura: My Art, My Story, My Art History (continuing through June 19 at the National Museum of Art, Osaka) is a combination retrospective and showcase of the artist's latest efforts. Among the 130 or so pieces on display are (actual) family photos, a faithful recreation of the Galerie 16 show (down to the works by the other two participants), a room dedicated to pictures of Frida Kahlo that are embedded in Mexican fiesta decorations, and new self-portraits of Morimura as various European masters like René Magritte, modern Japanese painters like Shunsuke Matsumoto, and Japan's first supermodel, Sayoko Yamaguchi.

Despite the rather simple conceit, Morimura's art works remarkably well on a variety of levels. Even without any knowledge of the subject, we are immediately drawn in by the visual charm of the pictures. Then we begin to consider the inspiration behind the work or try to recall the original. And this naturally leads us to wonder how Morimura went about making these things that look so obvious but clearly required extensive research and preparation. How much is achieved with makeup and costumes, how much with computer processing? Finally, and perhaps most importantly, there is Morimura's sly humor, which strips away the pretense of art and allows us to approach it in a new way, calling our attention to things that we have never seen before.

After three decades, Morimura's relentless focus on himself cannot help but seem predictable at times. But regardless of how familiar the concept is, it is refreshing to find a contemporary artist, who, instead of going out of the way to confuse or reject the viewer, is not afraid to amuse and entertain us.